#lack of fashion sense

[bonsai-and-the-suns]

i put as many accessories on as possible lol, and tried it out with earlier diy shirt and outfit

i love to wear this to school but stupid dress code of polos and jeans

(yes these photos have filters)

[indulgentcosmos]

[stars-n-spice]

Younger brother came up with the best thing-

Was out shopping with my siblings and while in stores my younger brother started a "Point out things the Bad Batch would wear" type of game. Forgot what he pointed to but he was like, "This is something Hunter would wear and then go to a gay club." Then he found something else and went, "And this is what Crosshair would wear to a gay club."

Then I was like, "Oh, imagine Hunter goes to a gay club, spots Crosshair across the room and is like, 'What are YOU doing here, huh?? 🤨🤨'"

My brother thought that was hilarious and agreed. He also found a bunch of stuff that he said Hunter would wear, "If he had a sense of style" and I added on that Crosshair probably has killer fashion sense and is habitually ashamed about his brother's lack of a fashion sense because it's a "disappointment to the queer community."

Anyways, happy pride!

[chalkanthit]

Forgot to post him, but it's my problematic fav!

[violetnaps]

reading this fic thats a scene by scene rewrite of canon and they adapted this one part like

guy: accidentally implies girl is heavy/fat

girl in source material: no reaction

the same girl in that fic: literally throwing a tantrum over it???

[icewindandboringhorror]

examining a seemingly normal image only to slowly realize the clear signs of AI generated art.... i know what you are... you cannot hide your true nature from me... go back where you came from... out of my sight with haste, wretched and vile husk

[cabeswaterdrowned]

Blue’s initial feelings of jealousy or insecurity at what Adam not telling her about his home life being so quickly replaced by concern and feeling for him and how horrifying she finds the idea of him not having a family because hers is so central to her identity …. Yeah… she’s so empathetic at her core which I feel gets lost sometimes when her judgemental streak is over focused on which she is very judgmental and I love that about her but like the minute she makes a decision to put that on hold in a sense she’s so empathetic

[39oa]

Exit Media: Jake Oettinger (05.31.23)

[Robo’s] a special player, and we’re all lucky that he’s on our team. (Is that cool as you guys grow together, I mean—that people on the street are going to go, "Hey look, that's Jason Robertson!" And you're like, "Yeah, I know him.") Yeah, totally. I think the funny part about him is like, we were in Austin, and he’s still wearing the same clothes and driving the same car as he was then. He hasn’t changed one bit. Just a rink rat, loves the game—just going to continue to get better.

[blightworn]

important to note that claude is very fashionable. ok. thank you.

[koreyeet]

idk what i did

i wanted them to dance or something

also im shipping the whispangle and silvaze kiddos

[aimeedaisies]

These photos of Anne and Tim at the Braemar games made my day, they are so cute together, only Tim can have the weirdest of colour block, blue yellow doddie tie, wirh red socks and shoes

That’s his charm ✨

[ehlnofay]

19! :)

19: sea change

In the last few days of the year 200, Torr kills the Emperor. In early 201, a war breaks out.

It’s not wholly unexpected, at least not by those who know where to look. The Emperor’s death is no small blow to Solitude, the city that sent him off on a voyage he would only exit under a pall; especially considering that the guard had patted itself on the back for successfully foiling an assassination attempt right before his ship left, only for his throat to be slit under their noses, anyway. The head of Skyrim’s Penitus Oculatus appears to have vanished. No-one reports seeing anyone out of place on the boat until they started stumbling over the bodies. The Empire mourns through all the official avenues as the heir prepares for succession; Solitude’s government is busy trying desperately to smooth it over, putting out excessive bounties on the assassin that failed and scraping up intel on the one who succeeded. Not that there’s anything much to find – it’s a locked-room murder, and every logical suspect has an alibi that holds up to interrogation. There are no leads to follow.

And Windhelm is a powder keg.

It always has been, ever since the Great War, as long as Torr or any of his kids have been alive. Short-fused and disillusioned, crowds moving hot as blood through its winding stone streets, it’s always been something tough, hard-throated, splintered into careful lined sections. Torr walks whatever lines he wants, but not everyone has the energy to straddle them; not everyone can.  The upper city is all harsh-cut stone and ice, the bricks ancient, the crowds in a hurry, even though none of them seem to know where they’re going; the Grey Quarter is where the snow runs when it turns to slush and the walls are stuffed with rags. The planks keep snapping with dry rot, sharp and gaping as broken teeth. They need to be filled to keep the cold out. The Cornerclub keeps the fire roaring. Talres goes there to work most days and doesn’t come back up to the house until the streets are empty. No-one knows it’s going to happen, not exactly, but there's no way anyone couldn't know. There are a lot of people who have been waiting on an opening, and all eyes are pointed elsewhere.

With little fanfare, the Jarl and his entourage leave Windhelm.

The city stops being a fuse and starts being the wreckage after it’s blown. Torr is told that there’s a span of a few weeks where Talres stops leaving the house completely. Katla gets arrested again and weasels out of it on her own. The ill-drawn posters of something approaching Torr’s face stuck up over the walls of Solitude are covered up with announcements and calls to join the Legion. Windhelm floods with bodies ready for the rebellion. Aventus’ house is already crowded; in a few months, Torr hears, it’s nigh impossible to walk in for the bedrolls and blankets spread over the floor. The city has never been a warm place in any sense of the word; Torr’s siblings are inundated with more kids and more kids with nowhere else to go. They don’t know if Solitude is much better; they look different now than they did on the night of the assassination that wasn’t and then was, hair cropped shorter and uneven, face gaunter, the weight they’d managed to gain over their comfortable months in Falkreath sloughing off them like a spider’s old skin, but even so it’s a bit much to step foot in there so soon, some of the bounty posters still mouldering on their posts. One of the kids says something about needing a whole other house. They’ve only got the one. Still, it makes Torr think.

(Skyrim has one orphanage, a little wooden hall down on the banks of Riften’s canals. And now there is a cursed house in Windhelm.)

Torr doesn’t go to Solitude. They only occasionally go to Windhelm. When they’re not on business, they stay on the outskirts of Danstrar; the Pale, all frozen winds and snow high enough to ice a horse’s knees, is an unappetising enough target that aside from an announcement of alliance with Windhelm’s Stormcloaks the war has not truly reached them yet. Which is ironic, considering.

(If prompted, Torr probably could have seen this coming – Torr, who spent years with his finger on Windhelm’s pulse, moving through the people and hearing endless talk about the government. It was going to happen sooner or later. And of course the Empire reeling from the assassination of its Emperor – the first since around the time of the Oblivion Crisis, which no-one is anxious to repeat, and the reminder of which put plenty of important people quite on edge – is enough of an opportunity to weigh heavily in sooner’s favour. If he’d thought about it with his blade set beneath the hairs of the old man’s beard, he would have known he was setting a war in motion. What Torr doesn’t know is if he would have cared.)

(Probably not. He still doesn’t, after all. Not enough to regret anything.)

Dead winter bleeds into spring; a little ice melts, and the sea begins to change. Torr’s shoulder aches when the weather is bad. There are clashes on the roads, outside cities, described in newspapers and word of mouth. Cyrodiil ships off heaps of soldiers to spill into Solitude’s ports. The house in Windhelm is overrun. But the nightshade kept in the temperate corner that Babette has transformed into a garden begins to bloom months early. The tides still come in and out.

The old Emperor is dead. Skyrim is tearing itself apart. Torr cleans his knife after use with a soap that smells like lavender and tries very hard to dredge up any guilt.

[yourqueenb]

Marguerite sweetie you were this 🤏🏾 close to giving us a decent outfit, but you just had to throw in that ill-matching snake belt huh

[aphelionsabyss]

I'm incredibly shallow because if I hate the costuming if your film I'm just gonna hate on it the whole time

Because why the fuck do the costumes make no sense

Why are they ugly

Nobody wants to watch w film with ugly aesthetics

It's a VISUAL. MEDIUM. like I don't think I'm in the wrong for wanting a visual story teller to look nice. Otherwise I'd read a book and imagine cool clothes that fit the setting myself

Why are the clothes sloppy and unflattering

Why are the clothes not telling a story as well?

Why do you not care enough about your film to give it proper costuming/styling????

If you fantasy land has boring fucking clothes with no shape

If your characters have unmemorable clothing

You're doing something wrong.

[demonir]

Witness my swag

[kitsunelike]

im so glad no one has ever tried to correct me on lolita "rules" bc i would start screaming